If She Only Knew

  “Jesus,” Nick whispered.

  “I think everything will come back. Soon. That’s one reason I didn’t want to go back to the hospital. I didn’t want to backslide. I don’t want any drugs that might slow this down.” She reached for his arm then. “I have to remember and soon. Or I will lose it.”

  “Can’t say as I blame you.”

  She dropped her hand, leaned back in the seat.

  “We’re almost there.” He cranked on the wheel, turning down a side street. A car rounded the corner from the opposite direction. Headlights blazed bright. Harsh. Blinding.

  Just like before! On that mountain road!

  Marla’s heart stopped. The air was suddenly trapped in her lungs.

  A jagged piece of memory sliced through the lining of her mind. In a flash she remembered other twin beams, right ahead of her, blinding her. In her mind’s eye she relived the horrifying moment. Witnessed the impact. The windshield shattering into a million blazing shards, a woman screaming as if she was being tortured, the sound of screeching, wrenching metal.

  “The accident . . .” she whispered, shaking. Horror tore through her. She relived that terror-riddled moment and tried to step on brakes that didn’t exist. Vividly she replayed the scene, saw the semi careening down the hill—faster and faster, roaring down Highway 17 and out of control. She screamed. The eighteen-wheeler swerved wildly, catching a man in its headlights. NO! OH, GOD, NO! The man would be crushed.

  Marla’s eyes slammed shut and she was breathing, panting, crying . . . Again she saw metal wrenching upon metal, sparks flying . . . No! No! No! The guardrail gave way and the tires blew. The car hurtled down the embankment and . . . and then hit. Then there was blackness . . . nothing . . .

  “Marla!” Nick’s voice was strangled with fear. A hand was on her shoulder, shaking her. “Marla!”

  Her eyes flew open. She was in the pickup in San Francisco. With Nick. Trembling and sobbing. “I . . . I . . .” Tears rained from her eyes as she turned to Nick. “I remember the accident,” she said. “It was horrible . . . there was something . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut, remembered Pam. “Oh . . . oh . . . No, don’t die, don’t die!”

  Nick stood on the brakes. He cranked on the wheel and nosed his truck into a loading zone on a side street. Marla was barely aware of him cutting the engine, but she felt his arms wrap around her and didn’t resist when he dragged her close to him. “Shh. It’ll be all right,” he said, though she knew he was lying.

  He kissed her crown of short hair, folding his arms tighter around her.

  “I killed her, Nick,” she said, her soul scraped raw as she remembered the horror of Pam’s body flying into the windshield. The blood. The screams. The darkness. She clutched Nick’s jacket in one fist and cried brokenly, gasping and sniffing, trying to find some bit of composure as she remembered being blinded by headlights . . . but there had been no car driving in her lane . . . or were the headlights from the truck that had suddenly rounded the corner? Was she confused? Her memory contorted? Her head throbbed, her jaw ached.

  But the image painted in her mind was vivid. There had been a man in the road. A dark figure in the glare of her lights, and then suddenly, as if he’d pulled a switch, he was ablaze in light, harsh, blinding, painful light . . . shining so bright that she couldn’t see . . . And she’d swerved, just as the truck had rounded the corner and caught the man in its bright headlights.

  Now, in the safety of Nick’s arms, she drew in deep ragged breaths. She realized how desperate she’d become, how she was clinging to Nick’s jacket, and slowly she uncurled her fingers and tried to push her body from his. Strong arms held her fast. “It’s all right,” he said again. “Now, what is it? Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Please . . . let me go.”

  “Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice low and she looked into eyes as dark as midnight. Somewhere deep inside she felt a stirring, a want, a need to connect, but she swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Yes.”

  His grip loosened and she extricated herself. Leaning back against the seat, she ignored the feel of him still lingering on her skin, the musky scent of him, the need she felt for his strength. Her blood was racing, her heart pounding, her nerves tingling with a million conflicting emotions.

  “What I want,” she said slowly, “is to get my life back. Whatever that is.” She looked out the side window, watched raindrops fork down the glass. “Just now I finally remembered the accident, how I was driving, talking, laughing, I think, and then I rounded a corner and there was the truck coming down the hill in the opposite direction, but that wasn’t it, there was something more. A man, I think. In the road. And he . . . and he was suddenly as bright as day.” She rubbed her arms, chilled to her bones. “And then the truck swerved and I hit the guardrail and then . . . and then . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut again, the memory horrifying.

  “Jesus, Marla, you don’t have to be so damned strong. It’s all right to fall apart.” He held her tight again and breathed into her hair.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Let it go.”

  Her throat closed and she stopped struggling, just sagged against him.

  “Now. Tell me.”

  “I lost control. Pam died.” Marla swallowed hard, knew she’d forever hear those horrid, tortured cries of agony as Pam gave up her life. “I . . . I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, but didn’t try to pull away.

  “Just relax.”

  She laughed without any mirth. “Is that possible?”

  “Probably not. But try.”

  He guided her forehead to the crook of his neck and his skin was warm against hers. For once she gave up the fight. Closing her eyes, she heard the strong, steady beat of his heart and she melted against him. His thumbs rubbed her arms and she thought of kissing his lips, of touching him where she was forbidden, of lying naked with him . . . oh, God, she couldn’t think such wanton, dark thoughts as the minutes clicked by. A car drove past slowly and disappeared at the far end of the narrow street. From out of the shadows a cat pounced on the hood of the truck, then disappeared into the night.

  “Now,” he said, his breath ruffling her hair. “Just calm down. Take it slow. Think.” Then as if realizing what he was doing, he slowly released her. “Try to remember, but don’t push too hard.”

  She nodded, feeling suddenly alone as she leaned back in the seat and willed her skyrocketing pulse to slow. “It’s coming back. Oh, God, Nick, it’s all coming back.”

  “You remember Pam?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “But not as a close friend, no . . . she was more of an acquaintance and we were driving south to . . . to . . .”

  “See her daughter?” Nick prompted, “at the university?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know.” She thought hard. “There was a reason but . . .” She felt a chill as cold as death run through her blood. “. . . I think it had to do with the baby.”

  “James.”

  “Yes.”

  “But he wasn’t with you.”

  “No . . . maybe we were just discussing him, but . . .” Deep in her heart, she sensed there was more to it, but couldn’t quite put the pieces together. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “It’ll come.” He looked at his watch. “We’d better get going.” He glanced in her direction as he reversed from the curb, then jammed the truck into first. “Are you gonna be all right?”

  “I don’t know,” Marla admitted and laughed without mirth. “I don’t even know what ‘all right’ is.”

  “Maybe none of us do.” He melded his truck into the stream of traffic moving toward the waterfront.

  “Maybe not.” Squaring her shoulders, Marla hazarded one last glance at his strong profile. His gaze was fastened on the street, his hands on the wheel and she felt ashamed because she sensed that she was closer to him at this very moment than she’d ever been with her husband. She ran a hand over her forehead in frustration. “I don’t think I’ve
said ‘thanks’ yet.” He slid one eye in her direction. “You saved my life, you know. Back at the house. I could have died.”

  “I did what I had to do.”

  “Well, I owe you one. Probably more than one.”

  “I don’t keep score.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “It wouldn’t do a helluva lot of good,” he said and turned into a parking structure attached to Bayside Hospital and the surrounding clinics by means of a sky bridge. Alex’s Jaguar was idling next to a Cadillac on the first floor of the lot.

  Spying the pickup, Alex shot out of the Jag and was at the truck’s passenger door in three swift strides.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Marla, his face contorted in concern as she stepped out of the cab. He looked through the open door to Nick, still seated at the wheel. “What the hell happened?”

  “Marla can fill you in.”

  “You’re leaving?” Alex asked, draping an arm familiarly over his wife’s shoulders and giving her a little squeeze.

  Nick’s lips compressed. “Yep. I figure you can handle it from here.” His gaze found Marla’s again and her pulse jumped as she remembered how close she’d come to kissing him.

  “I’ll catch you later, then,” Nick said and Marla looked after him, feeling that she was being abandoned. But that was silly. Stupid. Irrational. Alex was her husband. Just because Nick saved her life didn’t mean anything special. He would have done it for anyone. And the scene in the truck, that was all because of the rush and jumble of the trauma of the evening. Nothing more. Right?

  Nick’s gaze centered on Marla. Midnight blue eyes held hers for a heartbeat, then he turned toward his brother. “I figure you’re right, Alex. Since I’m down here anyway, I may as well move back to the house.”

  “What changed your mind?” Alex asked as Marla thought about living under the same roof as her renegade brother-in-law.

  Nick flashed his thousand-watt grin and lied through his damnably straight teeth. “I just figure it’s time.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Here, this will help with the pain,” Dr. Robertson said as he gave Marla an injection, then disposed of the needle. He was in a sport coat and slacks, his eyes serious behind his glasses as he examined her mouth and jaw. The clinic was quiet at this time of night, the staff having left hours before. Overhead fluorescent fixtures glowed and hummed, reflecting harshly on the chrome fixtures of the sink and the instruments gleaming on a spotless Formica counter. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  Marla was seated on a tissue-covered bed, her heartbeat finally slowing, the taste in her mouth and nose still foul, the pain screaming through her face beginning slowly to lessen.

  Alex stood at the door of the examination room, his arms folded tightly over his chest as the doctor finished the job that Nick had started. The clinic was empty, the outer hallways dark.

  “I . . . I got sick. Probably nerves or bad soup or both, I don’t know,” she said with difficulty. The muscles in her jaw had atrophied and she could barely open her mouth. Ignoring the pain, she forced her lips to move. “I’ve been pretty tense lately. Anyway, I felt a little queasy after dinner, went upstairs to lie down and . . .” She hesitated and decided not to confide in the doctor about the malevolent presence she’d felt in her room. Not right now. Not until she was clearheaded, certain the man hadn’t been just part of a nightmare, and she had determined whom she could trust. “I . . . I woke up . . . probably because of a bad dream, then I had to throw up. There was nothing I could do . . .” She shook her head. “It . . . it was awful.”

  “Then, considering, I guess you’re lucky,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped away from the examination table and stripped off his latex gloves. “You could have choked to death or suffocated.”

  “Funny, I don’t feel so lucky.” In fact she felt like hell on a bad day. No doubt she looked worse.

  “I suppose not.” He cut a glance at Alex, then handed Marla a hand mirror so she could view the damage. Yep, the phrase “death warmed over” fit her description to a T. Tentatively she stretched her jaw. Excruciating pain tore through her face and she sucked in her breath. Dr. Robertson said, “You’re going to feel your mouth for a few days—probably even weeks, but I’ll prescribe something for the pain. Now, the good news is that your jaw’s healed nicely.”

  “I’ll take any good news I can get,” she grumbled.

  He chuckled and winked at her. “But take it easy, okay? Rest. Recover. And if I were you I wouldn’t play hockey without a mask for a while.”

  “I’ll take that under consideration,” she said.

  One side of the doctor’s mouth elevated slightly. “Good. Now, keep your appointment with Dr. Henderson, though, as he did the initial surgery. He might want X rays to make sure the bones have knit, but it looks good to me.”

  “Thanks,” she said, grateful the ordeal was over.

  “So how’s the stomach?” Robertson tossed his used gloves into a small chrome trash can.

  “Better. A lot better.”

  “You should have told someone you were nauseous.” Alex’s eyes were dark with silent reproach, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed.

  “Maybe you should have been home,” she said irritably.

  His eyes narrowed just a fraction. “I was working.”

  “It was after eleven.”

  The corners of Alex’s mouth tightened and the look he sent her could have cut through granite. “I guess you don’t remember. I work late a lot. That’s why I hired Tom. If you weren’t so bullheaded . . .” His words faded and the tension that had drawn his face into a tight mask diminished. “Look, I’m just concerned, all right?” He unfolded his arms and rubbed the back of his neck. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Me, too,” she agreed, but decided not to push the argument. “I’m just sick of all this.”

  “We all are,” Alex said.

  Robertson washed his hands at a sink mounted in the wall. “Is there any improvement in your memory?” His gaze met Marla’s in the reflection of the mirror as he dried his hands.

  “It’s still not great, but I am making some breakthroughs. Just tonight I remembered giving birth to James.”

  From the corner of her eye she saw Alex’s spine stiffen slightly and a glimpse of surprise, no . . . was it worry . . . shadowed his eyes. “Did you?” he asked. “That’s great. Fabulous.” His smile seemed sincere. Almost.

  “And I remember the accident,” she asserted. “On the way over here, in Nick’s truck, someone rounded the corner and his headlights were on high and all of a sudden the accident flashed before my eyes.”

  Alex paled a bit beneath his tan.

  “There was a man in the road,” she went on. “I was driving and I had to swerve to avoid him. That’s when I hit the guardrail.”

  She shuddered and Alex nodded, encouraging her to continue though she sensed trepidation in his eyes. “Go on.”

  “It was horrible. A nightmare.” Marla forced the words through her teeth as the memories of that night, the screaming tires, wrenching metal, slick road, the shattering glass streaked through her brain. Phil Robertson winced as she explained what happened. “. . . and yes, I finally remember Pam, not much about her but I know she and I . . . we were planning something . . . I just can’t remember what.”

  “You’re tired,” Alex said. “Give it a rest.”

  “I will, but I need to talk to Detective Paterno.”

  “In the morning.”

  “Yes,” she said, suddenly weary, exhaustion seeming to seep into her bones. The pain in her jaw was now a dull ache, but she was drained. “I’ll call in the morning.”

  “Does Nick know about this?” Alex asked and Marla tensed, felt a twinge of guilt, as if she’d betrayed her husband.

  “Yes.”

  “It figures.”

  “There’s no reason to hide it.”

  “No, no, of course not,” he said, but his smile was s
trained and he fiddled with the keys in his pocket. Her mind was starting to get fuzzy again, probably from the pain medication and she was tired . . . so damned tired. “Can we go home now?”

  “Just let me give you a prescription,” Dr. Robertson said as he pulled out a small note pad and started writing on it. He tore the top sheet off and handed the slip to Alex. “This’ll help with the pain, but it might make you a little tired.” He scribbled a note to himself and stuck it in a thick manila file.

  Her medical file. All the information on her she’d ever want to know. A big part of the puzzle of who she was. “Can I see that?” she asked.

  “What?” Robertson asked.

  “The file.”

  “Nothing in it but medical information.” The doctor’s expression was kind enough, but there was something else behind the smooth exterior . . . it was almost as if he was patronizing her. Oh, God, she needed to sleep.

  “About me,” she said, reaching forward. “It’s mine, right?”

  “Don’t you think you’ve been through enough tonight?” Alex cut in and waved the doctor to put the records away.

  “But I want to know—”

  “Marla, another time, okay?” Alex’s voice had a tone that immediately put her back up. “It’s late. You need to go home and rest. You said so yourself.”

  “I know what I need,” she said, pushing herself off the examination table, “and that’s to learn more about myself. About you. About our family. It’s starting to happen, Alex. I’m really starting to remember and I’ll do anything, anything to help my memory along.”

  “I understand—”

  “Do you?” she tossed back, then glared at the doctor. “Do you?”

  “Hell, Marla, stop it. Phil came down here in the middle of the night as a favor to you because you wouldn’t go to the hospital. Now, he has a family to go home to and so do we.”

  Robertson clicked his pen and stuffed it into his pocket. “It’s all right,” he said, but didn’t hand over the file. “So tell me what you do remember,” he suggested, folding his arms over his chest, as well as Marla’s medical records. There was no way she’d get to see her damned files tonight.